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Karen Beratta–employment

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Elijah Pearlman–healthy development

(Instructions)

Disintegrating self

by: SusanJoy

Thu Jan 21, 2010 at 22:02 PM PST

What's left when the small sense of self disintegrates? While we may think "The true Self becomes evident when the small self disintegrates", this past week I visited my parents and observed how much my mother's dementia has advanced since I visited them last April. Watching her grasp desperately to hold onto her sense of self as it slips away from her control, I found myself wondering what is left when the self one has defined over a lifetime begins to crack apart . . . and one has no realization of the greater Self to fall into.

Of course, there were (and still are) all the practical matters like discussing with my sisters how to find some more support for my father before he becomes overwhelmed with the stress and burden of helping my mother figure out what day it is and how many days she has to wait until her next doctor's appointment (which she fixates on numerous times every day, even when the appointment is more than a week away), or trying to keep her focused on getting ready and out the door to go to their Tai Chi class, or even helping her figure out what clothes to wear in the morning (so she's not dressed for church when it's Tuesday and they're going to exercise class -- or vice versa).

But I also found my self observing in an almost detached, though compassionate and empathetic, perspective -- wondering what part of the mother I've always known is still present. She can no longer have a meaningful discussion about anything other than her memories of the past, which are still quite strong and clear. When all her decisions now seem to be based on a set of memorized rules -- "I don't like that kind of food", "We don't do such and such", "This is the way that I like to do Tai Chi", etc. -- who is she now when confronted with a new situation or with new information that doesn't fit into her rules? As I evolve in my 2nd birth and feel like I am surrendering more and more of my old illusions of control over events in life, how do I relate to my mother whose strategy seems to be trying desperately to squeeze life's events, by sheer force of will, into her firmly constructed grid of rules for how she wants everything to happen?

While she has always been somewhat anxious and fearful, those patterns are becoming more extreme. It seems like she understands at some level that her confusion is overwhelming her mental faculties, and so she seems to be clinging to every remnant of control -- and often resisting my father's amazingly patient efforts to help her manage her life activities. She has become quite paranoid and seems to not really trust anyone completely -- except maybe her doctor (who, of course, spends only a brief amount of time with her). One day I heard her accuse my father of being mean and just making up what he told her about how many days she had to wait until her doctor's appointment. Fortunately, when I asked my father later if that bothered him, he said "no, because I know it isn't true".

I found myself puzzling over how to connect with her deeper essence or her transcendant Self, which I believe must still be there even though she has no idea it is there, doesn't know how to connect with it, and probably wouldn't even understand the whole concept of Self-realization or enlightenment or awakening. Amidst grieving for the loss of my mother as I've always known her, I feel like I'm struggling to find a new way to relate to her as she is now -- especially from my new perspective of who I am now in my second birth. I'm also very aware of my feelings of frustration and helplessness -- knowing that there is not really anything I can do to relieve her suffering -- physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual suffering -- other than to be present to her from my experience of openness and trust of Life, of Being, of Self.

If any of you have experience, insight, or comments about this, I would really appreciate hearing them.

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Disintegrating self | 3 comments

Disintegration (0.00 / 0)

Thanks for this post Susan. Although I'n not familiar with dementia and it's progression, I know the feeling of not being able to do anything for someone you care for who's in the midst of a health crisis. You are a helpless hostage to love whose tender-heartedness is a blessing for your mother and a challenge for you.
I'm standing with you in mute appreciation and understanding.

by: steve boggs @ Tue Jan 26, 2010 at 10:55:50 AM CST

Disintegration (0.00 / 0)

Joy, I can identify with some of your experiences with your mother. I watched my father disintegrate over a stretch of ten years after he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. I felt helpless as I'm sure Dad did.

I would go visit Dad at the nursing home several times a week. At that point he didn't recognize me by name, although sometimes there seemed to be a look of recognition in his eyes. I would help him with his meals (often by spoon-feeding), and then I'd just quietly sit with him for some time. Sometimes I'd talk a little about family things, even though he couldn't respond. Often I'd put on one of those nature CDs, with sounds of birds, brooks, and various animals (Dad grew up on a farm).

But usually I would just quietly sit there, next to Dad. I oozed into my second birth as Dad entered into the advanced stages of the disease. It often seemed as though my immersion in Being was deeper and more intense when I was sitting there with Dad. Sometimes I was really ablaze. At least physically, I think that sometimes Dad was receptive to that. His physical bearing, his face, occasionally his eyes, would visibly brighten.

Someone well-versed in esoteric matters once suggested to me that for some people with dementia, the deeper self begins to cross over well before the person actually dies. I've wondered if that were true with Dad. Maybe some people ooze into the death transition, just as some of us ooze into the second life.

(There's a company that specializes in vibrational healing that now offers a product for persons with dementia. Supposedly it works by very specifically helping to bridge that gap between the physical person and the departing deeper self. I can email you more information on that if you'd like.)

When I was young, I saw my much-loved grandmother slide into dementia (they didn't call it Alzheimer's back then), and I felt so helpless. I remember other grandparents, aunts and uncles who encountered great difficulties as they aged. Right now, my elderly mother is home bound and less and less able to handle the matters of daily living (her mind is still good, but she doesn't remember some things) I've gotten to know many of Mom's elderly friends, and I've seen many of them become less and less able and suffer increasing pain and various indignities, until they die. I'm realizing that for many people, the last few months and even years are very difficult, even an affront.

I haven't made my peace with that.

by: StephenS @ Wed Jan 27, 2010 at 11:37:15 AM CST

Thank you both for your comments (0.00 / 0)

First of all, it is great to know that someone is still reading Mutualilty.net!

I really appreciated what both Steve and Stephen have written and you have both given me much to ponder.

Steve, your comment about watching helplessly while a loved one goes through 'a health crisis' stirred some reaction in me that it took a while to clarify. Finally I realized that I tend to think of a health crisis as something that people struggle with and then recover (although I realize that is not always the case). I know that my mother is not going to get better and, in fact, will most likely get worse over time. To me, that feels even harder -- and different in a way that I can't quite articulate yet -- than a health crisis from which someone has a good chance of recovering. You've brought my inner attention to an area that I will be exploring further and watching to see what I can learn about why that's so difficulty for me -- maybe something about the finality of it, the sense of inescapable fate.

Stephen, I appreciated you sharing your experiences with your father and with your mother and her friends -- and I can relate to what you shared about sitting quietly in presence with your father. I feel like a part of me was able to do that, but it was a little harder because my mother is still very vocal and very communicative. In fact, it almost seems like she has to keep talking to whoever is around because (maybe) the silence is uncomfortable to her or maybe even frightening.

When I started to feel into the differences between your situation and mine, I have remembered something I heard one of my former spiritual teachers, David Deida, suggest to men about how to listen to women's talking. Deida explains that women often talk as a way to connect energetically and the content of the words is not what's important. Men, says Deida, can find that frustrating because they are often more used to silence and tend to speak when they have something important to say. I remember his suggestion that men could listen to their women's speaking the same way that they would listen to the sound of a singing bird or a rushing creek -- to just enjoy the beauty of the sound and appreciate the aliveness of the energy behind it. It feels to me like that could be a useful way for me to listen to my mother tell me the same memories and the same stories over and over. Rather than feeling frustrated, I could try hearing her speaking as a way to connect with me through the energy of words, rather than trying to focus on the meaning of the words.

by: SusanJoy @ Thu Jan 28, 2010 at 23:36:55 PM CST

Disintegrating self | 3 comments

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